


Pretty Things, Politics, and Past Trauma AKA Trials and Lips

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Mistress, Past Sexual Abuse, Politics, Sexual Content, excerpt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt from "Trials and Tricks": Sansa find pursuing her goal of seducing the prince of the realm a bit more complicated than she'd anticipated as issues both personal and political test their respective boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Things, Politics, and Past Trauma AKA Trials and Lips

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt from my long-ass WIP fic, "Trials and Tricks". I thought I might try experimenting with posting some of my sex scenes as one-shots so that those of you who don't want to wade through the whole story at once might be able to enjoy a little smut. There are going to be some references here to past events in my story. If you guys like this, I'll post more excerpts and if you're interested, please check out my WIP. This scene is from Chapter Ten: Trials and Lips.

She’d wasted no time hurrying to Jon’s apartments the moment the second session of court was over. When she entered, Ghost trotted over to her and nuzzled her neck. The animal licked under her chin, at the burn scars from that awful night. For once, the creature’s eyes didn’t look angry.

 _I’m so weary of anger,_ she reflected. Sansa was weary of anger, of violence, of cold, of lying, of everything. One of Jon’s armchairs in the corner looked inviting. Upon sitting, she put her head in her hands. She felt so old.  _How is it  that I’ve only lived nineteen years?_  

The truth was, she had not felt young since she was twelve.  _I was robbed of my youth. A prisoner at twelve, a bride at thirteen, a fugitive the same year, then a widow and bride again, a queen, a mother… I should be older._

Sansa looked above the mantle where a mirror sat, and examined her appearance. The burn scars were not noticeable unless one looked closely; they molded well with her very fair skin. There were no lines anywhere. Her face was thinner than it had been all those years ago, but she honestly didn’t look that different from how she had at age thirteen.

Once upon a time, being beautiful had been the most wonderful thing in the world. From age three, people had stopped using the word ‘pretty’ to describe her and just used ‘beautiful’. It wasn’t a word often given to little girls. Most children were at some point called “beautiful children”. But with Sansa, it was different. She was a ‘beautiful’ or ‘exquisite’ girl, and even then Sansa knew that was not the same as being cooed over as a mere ‘beautiful child’ or ‘pretty girl’. At a very young age, people would stop to look at her. Sometimes they’d look at her more than they looked at Robb, though he’d been heir to Winterfell. And Robb had never been unattractive.

Sansa always loved it. She loved being smiled at, to be the subject of the admiring glances of others. She loved knowing people loved to look at her. She loved how her mother just  _had_  to comb her hair every night, because it was just that pretty. She loved that she could get people to do things for her just by smiling at them. She loved how people said that she’d have great prospects for marriage and success thanks to her face. To be beautiful, she believed, was the best trait that anyone, especially any woman, could possess. Beauty meant she was blessed with everything a girl could want, and would have everything else as well.

And then being beautiful became a curse. When she realized what people actually thought when they saw her. When she realized crying pretty tears couldn’t convince Joffrey to spare her father’s life. When she realized that her face and body made men want to touch her and take things from her. When she realized that no matter how lovely she appeared, there were so many who wanted to hurt her. That it didn’t make people love her, only want her. That to many, she wasn’t a person, but an ornament or asset. That people looked at her and did not see a pretty girl but a pretty thing. That her lovely face could attract harm far more easily than it attracted friends. Beautiful girls were not loved as often as the songs claimed. Beautiful girls were used.

Now she saw her face as more of a mask. Her face and body were more tools  to get what she needed. Sansa didn’t feel any of the personal joy that she once experienced gazing at her reflection in a mirror. Something that had once been her favorite thing about her life had become just another tool.

When she was eleven, the king had come to Winterfell. He’d greeted her parents, then looked at Robb and confirmed his name. Then his eyes fell on Sansa. And he’d paused for a few more seconds than he had with Robb. His smile grew wider, his gaze more intent. “Oh, you’re a pretty one.”

And she’d felt thrilled. All Robb, heir to Winterfell, had gotten was ‘You’re Robb?’ from the King. Sansa had gotten a big smile and a compliment.

Now that she reflected on the encounter, she realized what must have been behind that smile. The man was notorious for his debauchery. Though Sansa had only been eleven at the time, she’d already started developing breasts and hips and she was uncommonly tall for her age. When fat old drunken Robert Baratheon looked at her, he wasn’t thinking, ‘Oh, what a lovely, darling young lady.’ He was probably thinking about her naked. That’s what most men thought of when they saw her, whether they liked her or not. Joffrey hadn’t liked her. But he’d liked her pretty.

 _But in this case, it helps me to be beautiful_. _Beauty is a blessing around the good men in the world. There are so few left, but I’ve found one. Most men look at you and think, ‘I want that.’ Jon looks at you and thinks, ‘I adore her.’_

So when Jon entered the chamber and Sansa turned to face him, she didn’t feel any dread or discomfort when she met his eyes. She saw him flush and his pupils seemed bigger, and he wet his lips.  There was heat, but it didn’t burn.

It took her a second to remember that she was supposed to be mad at him, and that they were in the middle of resolving an issue.  _Tyrells. Politics. Right._

Sansa reminded herself that she needed to have the upper hand in this situation.  So she strolled towards him, pouting a little. “I believe you had some further questions for me, Your Grace?”

“Hmmm?” He blinked twice. “Oh, yes… I---“

“Yes?” She arched a brow and tilted her head, putting her long neck on full display. At this point, she was just having fun. She really didn’t need to lie to him about anything. She just loved seeing the way his cheeks colored and his eyes kept trying to leave her neck, but were dragged back every couple of seconds.  _He’s adorable when he’s nervous. He hides behind that sullen look all the time. But when he loses his mask, it’s wonderful._

Jon seemed to collect himself. “You’ve been using your connections to the crown for political gain.”

Sansa groaned. “Jon, I’m using them as much for the crown’s political gain as my own. With the approval of the crown itself. I’ve not lied to you, or harmed you in any way. I wouldn’t do that. This was not some attempt to hurt or exploit you. I’ve not outright asked you for consent regarding a number of my political actions because they haven’t involved you. And that is because they’re not your business. I have castles, roads, villages, and glass gardens to rebuild, a winter to get through, people to feed, and bannermen to serve. Just because I love you does not mean I’ve stopped being the Lady of Winterfell. I’m sorry I haven’t shared every little detail about what that involves, but you gave me the impression that you didn’t mind me handling some of my affairs independently. Furthermore, in regards to House Tyrell, your aunt did wish for me to conduct myself with some discretion.”

Jon’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “What did you just say?”

“You want me to repeat it  _all?_ ”

“The part about you being Lady of Winterfell.”

She rolled her eyes. “I said that I’m still Lady of Winterfell regardless of how much I l--“

Then she stopped. Jon grinned.  _Oh, Seven Hells. And of course his smile is so sweet I’m having trouble being mad at myself. How in the world did that escape from my mouth? And why did I almost say it again? That’s not how this is supposed to work. I’m supposed to hold him at arm’s length. Make him desperate._ Sansa pursed her lips. She thought as quickly as she could. She’d been trained to anticipate and adapt to unforeseen circumstances. To find the opportunity in any mistake or new development. “You’re my family, Jon. My only remaining family. But if I want to have any more family ever again, I need to play politics. But I’m doing my best to do so in the most ethical way I can. I don’t know what more you could ask of me.”

Jon’s smile fell. That hurt her more than she was willing to admit.

“I don’t like you withholding things from me,” he said gruffly, looking away. “I felt like you were scheming behind my back.”

“I’m sorry. But it is not my place to share with you the private discussions I have with the queen any more than it is my place to share our private conversations with her. Jon, I know you wish that I would just tell you everything. But after all that’s happened, there are some secrets I need. And frankly, Daenerys  _did_  ask for my discretion, and I know how much you dislike anything to do with the Tyrells. I had no idea it would bother you so much.”

Jon walked over to a bench by his window and sat, rubbing his face. “Actually, I don’t even think that was what set me off.”

“What then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Daenerys said some things to me at dinner. About you.”

Her pulse quickened.  _Oh Gods. What have I done?_  Sansa thought she’d established an excellent rapport with her monarch.  _Why would she speak ill of me?_

“What things?”

“She was talking about your marriage prospects.”

 _Oh, thank the Mother._   _Nothing serious then._ Sansa tried not to smile.  _Let’s see where this goes._

“What about them?”

“She was saying that when we go to the North, I should keep my eye on any potential suitors. I said that you weren’t even interested in marriage right now. She replied suggesting that you might be interested in Willas Tyrell…”

 _Well, he’s definitely jealous. Good. And Daenerys has planted ideas of marriage in his head. Also good. Now I have to play it right._ Sansa bit her lip. “Jon… A lot of people depend on me continuing my bloodline. I  _will_  have to marry eventually. Preferably before winter is up. It’s still a dangerous world out there and if I were to die without issue, the Starks would be gone, the North would have no designated Lord, and the Houses would go to war over the regency. I have a duty to my people to wed.” 

Jon clenched his fist. “I can’t stomach giving you away to some random lordling when I only just got you back.”

 _Perfect._ Sansa frowned and summoned tears. “Do you think it’s any easier for me, Jon? You’ve told me the truth about Daenerys. You are the  _last Targaryen_. The North and every other part of this continent depends on you making the right match as well. Don’t forget, my situation is no different. I’m also going to have to watch as you’re given away to some sweet noble virgin for the good of the realm while I’m stuck in  _yet another_ loveless marriage to someone who will look at me and see a keep and some fields instead of a person.

 “And it’ll be even worse for me, because not only will I have to watch you with some untouched, undamaged little child, I’ll be expected to bow and curtsey and even wait on her. She’ll go down in history as the beloved wife of the man I love. Meanwhile, I’ll go down in history as the Stark no one wanted, the one who killed two men, was the mistress of one of the greatest villains of the Civil Wars, and couldn’t keep her own home intact after she’d rebuilt it. I’ll be put away up North and you’ll forget all about me.”

A few sentences in, the tears didn’t need forcing. Because she was imagining it. Her, standing to the side in the Great Sept next to some new version of Harry Hardyng. Some beautiful, fresh-faced girl in an ivory gown being escorted down the aisle. Jon smiling and putting a black and red cloak on her shoulders, the septon placing a jeweled coronet on her brow. Spending that night lying naked beneath some man who rutted into her like she was a brood sow while knowing Jon was with that sweet new wife of his, probably delighting in her perky teats and the feeling of her maidenhead giving away.

Years later, Sansa would be explaining to her children why their home wasn’t complete, watching as people looked at her and whispered about her behind their hands. Maybe she’d have to explain to her children who Petyr Baelish was. Meanwhile, she’d be curtseying to that same smiling girl with a half-dozen dark eyed, dark-haired sons she’d given Jon, who still managed to look so much like the brothers they’d lost. Princes with names like Robb and Bran and Rickon…

_No. No. No._

Jon rushed over and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll never forget about you. Or stop loving you.”

She didn’t expect some grand proposal at that exact moment. But she did feel a little disappointed with this response.  _Not even the slightest suggestion of how we might avoid that exact situation?_   _He could at least say that he doesn’t ever want to marry some sweet little noble virgin. Or something._

“You will. Some beautiful young girl who doesn’t say the wrong thing when you kiss her, who hasn’t been touched by someone else… You’ll have her and you’ll not want me.”

“No. No I won’t. I will always want you. More than anyone,” Jon babbled, nuzzling her hair. “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care who’s touched you. You’re mine now.”

 _Ah, there we go._ Sansa smiled against his shoulder.  _One step closer._  She dropped the smile and looked up at Jon.  _Gods, I love looking at him. I love looking at his face. I love those sweet eyes._ “I don’t want any lordling. I just want you. Not just as family. As… something else. I love you, Jon Snow.”

Sansa had intended to say Jon Targaryen or just Jon. But Jon Snow slipped out of her mouth. And for a second, she’d panicked. Maybe it would anger him to hear that name now. Maybe he loathed hearing a reminder of his bastard status. She had no idea why she’d said it.

_Maybe it’s because while Jon Targaryen is the one I want to marry, it’s Jon Snow I love. Jon Snow is the person left when you strip away the titles and crown. And I love that person. Even if I succeed, I’ll always have to share Jon Targaryen with the entire kingdom. But not Jon Snow. I’m one of the few who knows him. I would have Jon Snow all to myself. Jon Snow would be mine and no one would ever be able to take him away from me. Not Petyr Baelish. Not Cersei Lannister. Not Joffrey Baratheon. Not Damon or Wallace Coldwater. Not even the Night’s King or Daenerys Targaryen._

When she heard his breath catch, she knew it was alright.

“You called me Snow,” he whispered. “No one has called me that in two years.”

“I don’t care what anyone calls you,” she replied breathlessly, “Out there you can be a Targaryen. But you’re in here now, with me. The woman who loves you. The man I love is Jon Snow. The sullen-faced bastard boy with the black curls and the white wolf.”

Their mouths connected, open and hungry, tongues battling for dominance. They kissed until they couldn’t breathe. Then they broke away for little pauses and kissed some more. They repeated this process until Jon started breaking away and speaking in between shorter ones.

“Sansa… I... want… to… kiss… you…”

“You… are…”

“No… somewhere… else…”

Then she pulled away for longer than a second. “What?”

He looked at the ground. “I know we’re supposed to talk about… what happened to you before we try this again. But maybe if I just tell you what I’m going to do, we can do this right?”

She smiled. “I’d prefer that. But what are you talking about?”

He pulled her close and grinned, leaning into her. “I want to take you into my bedchamber, lay you down, throw your skirts up, pull your smallclothes off with my teeth, and make you come with my mouth.”

She squeaked.  _I didn’t even have to ask him._ “Oh, Jon… Please do that. Please.”

He gave a little moan. “Are you sure?”

“Gods yes.”

He grabbed her roughly, pulling her into the bedroom as fast as he could. He threw her down on the bed and proceeded to climb on, his eyes hot and dark. Sansa squirmed a little and parted her legs. She felt so hot. There was a delicious twisting in her lower belly. Both of them were panting like mad. Jon grabbed at her grey samite skirts and yanked them up around her hips. Sansa put her arms down to flatten the bunched up fabric that blocked her view. She wanted to watch him.

When he caught sight of what was between her legs, he grinned.

“Gods you’re so wet already. I can see right through the fabric.”

She blushed and snickered. “Well, I can see the tent in your breeches."

He glanced down, now red himself. “Apologies, my lady.”

“Don’t apologize. Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“I---- I want to see you without your shirt.” She blushed.  _I want to see his chest and stomach, though._  Also, the idea of him being more naked than she was gave her a sense of comfort.

Looking a little smug, he removed his jerkin and doublet. Sansa gave him an approving little look, then instructed him to proceed. He laughed.

“You’re an absolute delight.”

He did, in fact, bend down and pull her smallclothes down her thighs with his teeth, using his hands to tug them the rest of the way. She lifted her legs to help him and once they were off, he looked down at them for a moment.

“What?” she asked, suddenly worried. Had her moon blood come?

Jon glanced at her. Now it was his turn to blush. “May I keep these?”

“That’s awful. That’s filthy. That’s depraved. I love you. Yes. Now put your mouth on me.”

He paused. “You’re sure?”

Sansa swallowed. “I am. But… for right now… just your mouth, alright?”

He smiled and nodded.

“…And fingers. Fingers are alright too.” she added. Jon chuckled.

“Mouth and fingers.”

He began to descend upon her. But the image of a dark-haired man hovering over her in bed while her small clothes were off triggered something. Sansa froze.

“JON!”

He stopped, giving a strangled little whine. One look at her face, and he backed away and started getting off the bed.

“Jon, please.” She sat up, pleading. His expression was a mask of disappointment.

“I can’t do this, Sansa. I can’t scare you. I won’t do it. I’ll go to bed with you, but not if the ghost of your raper is in the sheets with us.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” she protested.  _Think. Think. Seven Hells, Sansa Stark. You are going to bed this man and you are going to have his head between your legs. You’ve earned this. Now do it._  “I have an idea.”

She thought about how controlling all her prior bedmates had been. How she’d always felt completely at their mercy, how she was always an object, always in the vulnerable position. They were always stronger than her. They could always keep her from struggling. She always felt trapped or restrained.  _Maybe if…? Oh gods, what if he turns away in disgust?_ She swallowed.  _He’s about to do that anyways and I could lose him forever if I don’t try anything._

“I need you vulnerable.”

“How so?” he asked at once, sounding intrigued.

She considered this. “I have to feel like I’m in control. And you need to be… at a disadvantage. I can’t feel like I’m at a disadvantage. And I need to know that I could leave at any time.”

“Sansa of course you can…”

“I know that  _consciously_ , Jon. But I’m going to need some measures to convince me. So you need to be vulnerable and I need control.”

“How do we do that?”

She bit her lip. “Well, first, you should take the rest of your clothes off.”

His eyes glinted. A sly smile appeared as he reached down and unlaced his breeches, kicking off his boots and stepping out of his trousers. When he was in his smallclothes, he started undoing the laces at an agonizingly slow pace. Sansa frowned.

“Now!”

He almost jumped out of his skin, but he got them off in seconds. He stood up straight then, standing perfectly still. Sansa zeroed in on his cock. _Oh, thank the gods he’s not a monster like Harry._

Harrold Hardyng liked to think of himself as well-endowed. But Sansa thought that well-endowed implied something positive about one’s endowments. There was never anything positive about Harry’s situation. He was simply too big. He was too thick, too long. The thing had been hideous. And painful.

Jon’s was gorgeous. Sansa never thought she’d feel that way about a man’s genitals, because all penises looked ridiculous on some level. But there was something very appealing about what she was looking at now. It poked up and out from a surprisingly neat thatch of coarse dark curls. It was tan instead of red. It was big enough to impress but not big enough to terrify. And it was just attractive.

 _That,_  she thought as she wet her lips,  _is going inside me. A lot._

“Sansa, aren’t you going to----?”

“I’m not taking off my dress,” she told him.

He looked so disappointed that Sansa almost tore the gown to shreds right then and there.  _No. There needs to be a barrier for now._

Sansa cleared her throat. “Alright, Jon… Um, I was hoping you’d get on your back. I also thought I might…”

She cringed then.  _I can’t possibly say this out loud._

“What, Sansa? It’s fine.”

“I want to tie you up.”

“Tie me...?" His voice was so hoarse. 

“Up. Yes. An ankle and one wrist to the bed at first.”

He swallowed. “At first?”

“Yes. Like we said. Mouth and fingers. You’ll need a hand free for when I sit on your face.”

His jaw dropped. Sansa went scarlet. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. “Um, and then I’m going to just tie your hands together behind your head. Is that alright?”

His eyes were the size of dinner plates. “I, um…”

“It won’t always be this way,” she promised. “Just for the start. I just need to get used to a few things. And I know you won’t be able to trust me, but I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

“I trust you, my lady.” Jon scrambled onto the bed, getting on his back and looking at her eagerly. Sansa stood up over him and removed her stockings. He gasped. “You’re using those?”

“They’re silk. They’re safe.” She didn’t want to go into how she knew they were best. She knelt down and began tying him. She kissed his mouth then and went to straddle his head.

She kept herself up a bit, so as not to block his flow of air. She regretted having so many skirts, as they covered his pretty face.  _I’ll get to see it when he’s finished and his chin is dripping._

Sansa almost lost her control all at once. Jon didn’t waste any time. The first thing he did was kiss her pubic hair. A second later, he dipped his tongue in her folds and began teasing her around her entrance. Sansa squeaked.  _Oh gods. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself if he…._

He did. He moved his mouth to her nub, first caressing the hood and then targeting the little bead beneath, finding it easily.  _Gods, that’s quite a skill._ Sansa arched her back and cried out, clenching her fists.

She’d been wanting something like this for a very long time. She’d asked Petyr to put his mouth on her one night after she’d gotten on her knees for him. He’d teased her and then refused. Harry acted appalled by such a notion.  _“There’s nothing to suck on!”_ He’d exclaimed.  _“Yes, there is!”_ She’d retorted.  _“Just because you don’t know the first thing about it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist!”_  He’d been insulted by that and acted like a big baby. But she’d always wondered how it would feel.

As it turned out, it felt incredible. Jon, it seemed, possessed more understanding of her anatomy than Harry. He alternated between stabbing at her button with his tongue and sucking on the hood just enough to make her vibrate. She could barely think. She’d completely lost control of herself, writhing like a cat in heat and bucking her hips. She didn’t care. Being in control at that moment was not a priority.

She could feel it mounting. She was getting closer… Closer… She reached down, grabbed those dark curls she loved so much, and tried to push his face closer to her. As if that was possible. And then his fingers joined in, penetrating her entrance and burying deep inside her.

“Oh gods… Oh gods… Jon… I’m gonna… gonna…”

Jon’s voice was muffled, but he sounded encouraging. It sent her over the edge. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she howled. Everything lost its focus. It took her several seconds to remember where she was, who she was, or what was happening. The pleasure of it ebbed away slowly and the world came back into focus.  _Oh gods, I must have suffocated him._ Sansa got off him. His face peeked out from her skirts and he was grinning, his chin very, very wet.

Sansa giggled. She was just so  _happy._  She moved down his body so her arse was pressed against his cock. He gasped and she grabbed him by the hair once more and pulled him into a kiss, tasting herself on him.

When she pulled away, he had the smuggest smile.

“You look pleased with yourself,” she remarked.

“I  _am_. I’m  _extremely_  pleased. You’ve utterly  _soaked_  everything. Satin will be furious, though. You made a right mess.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh? And what about you?”

“What about me?”

Sansa sat up and pinned him down. Moving further down his body, she smiled. “Let’s see you make a mess.”

She began to move her head towards its target. But he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Sansa…”

 _Oops, forgot to tie the other wrist._  She went to rectify the situation, untying the restrained arm and then binding both hands behind his head, looping the stocking in a figure eight. “What?”

He hesitated. “I would… I would not get a bastard on you.”

“There are a dozen ways to avoid that, Jon. I was going to use my mouth on you.”

She felt his cock twitch against her arse and she grinned. For some reason, she didn’t feel bothered by it. She felt too good to let the ghosts of her past ruin this.  _Petyr’s gone. Harry’s gone. I’ve got Jon Snow instead._

“You don’t have to…”

“What if I want to?”

“That’s fine.”

He said this so quickly that she had to laugh. She got back to her old position, crouched over the lower half of his body, head inches from his cock. Sansa looked up at Jon and licked her lips. He shuddered. His eyes didn’t leave hers as she sunk her mouth down over the head. Her lover yelped. She moved down, taking more of him in. His cock was warm, hard, thankfully clean. It was also big enough for this to prove horribly uncomfortable if she wasn’t careful. She pressed his hips down with her hands so he didn’t buck them, just in case. Sansa rolled her tongue along the vein. As he got deeper into her, she relaxed her gag reflex the way Petyr taught her years ago at the Gates of the Moon.

 _Well, now I’m using what you taught me on the man raised by Eddard Stark. A prince, too. Someone who in eight years rose up higher than you could have ever dreamed, Petyr. How do you like that? You’ve lost another Tully girl to another son of House Stark. That’s what hurting me got you. All along you were actually preparing me to enthusiastically fellate another boy from Winterfell. And unlike with you, I actually_ like _doing it this time._  She felt herself laugh, which translated into a hum that vibrated around Jon’s flesh. That earned her a cry of, “OH GODS! LOVEYOULOVEYOULOVEYOU!”

Rather thrilled, she began bobbing up and down on him, using all the tricks she knew. She stroked a vein with her tongue and created a suction of air with her lips. Every little moment earned her sweeter endearments. But before long, Jon was crying for her to stop, please. She did, letting his dick out of her mouth with a pop. Jon stared at her with manic eyes.

“Sansa… Sweetling … please, may I… Let me into your cunt, please.”

Sansa grinned, loving that he was pleading with her. She bunched up her skirts and hovered over him, lowering herself onto his erection.

“Oh!” She exclaimed. This was the first time she’d had a man inside of her in this way that it didn’t hurt or cause her any form of shame or discomfort. Jon bit his lip and grunted.

“Gods, but you are beautiful,” he said roughly.

Both of them rolled their hips, pulling apart and pushing together. They were joined together in a way that felt so whole and perfect. She felt ready to melt into him. She  _was_  melting into him.  _He’s inside me. I’m wrapped around him. We’re swallowing each other. He’s part of me. I’m part of him. Complete. Complete. We’re complete. We’re perfect._

“Jon! Oh, fuck!” She didn’t curse often. This was definitely a special occasion certainly worthy of such words.

“So tight… Love you… perfect girl… sweet girl…” He was panting like mad.

And she was on the brink again. “OH! JON!”

She shattered around him in the best way, and collapsed on his chest. He kissed the top of her head and asked that she let him pull out.

“No, Jon, please,” she said. “I have moon tea. Don’t pull out. Stay. Stay with me.”

Sansa had no intention of getting pregnant yet, but she wanted to feel him spill within her. She wanted to know what it would feel like when she finally achieved all her goals and would have him planting their babes inside her.

“Sansa, please,” he whimpered.

 _He let me tie him up._ Sansa reluctantly sat up and un-impaled herself. Instead, she arranged herself so his cock was pushing right up against her mound and nub.

“Call me Jon Snow again,” he whimpered.

“I love you, Jon Snow,” she said languidly, meaning it more than she’d ever meant anything. Sansa looked down and into his eyes.

She felt something hot spurt onto her skin. He relaxed then. Sansa went to untie him, then collapsed next to him. Both lovers turned on their sides, facing each other.

“You’re going to be mad at me,” Jon told her.

“Why?”

“I’ve ruined your lovely silk dress.”

She started giggling. She didn’t give a rat’s arse about the dress. “Gowns can be ruined. This cannot.”

She reached out and ran a hand through his hair.

He stroked her arm. “I’m glad you’re not angry.”

“I’ve grown weary of anger. I’d rather be happy. Don’t you want happiness?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Of course. If one can want something they have, then I do want happiness.”

“I’ve made you happy, then?”

“Yes.”

She snuggled in closer. Jon turned on his back, wrapping an arm around her. Sansa rested her head upon his chest. “Good. I would like to think I make you a fine mistress.”

He gave a quizzical look. “Is that what you are? My mistress?”

“Do you prefer paramour? I believe that’s what the Dornishmen call it. What else could I be?”

He stroked her hair, not answering her. Sansa smiled, sure that he was considering that question in his head.  _Not long now._

In the meantime, she was quite happy being his mistress.  _Being a prince’s mistress is not such a bad thing. Ellaria Sand was happy. I’m sure I will be as well._

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, if you guys like what you, see I'll post more excerpts as one-shots. And if you REALLY like it, check out Trials and Tricks. There's way more smut and lots of other interesting things. Be sure to check me out on tumblr as well: wendynerdwrites.tumblr.com


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